


First Order of Events

by Trash_Baby



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Online Dating, F/M, Idk where I'm going with this but maybe some smut, Online Dating, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The First Order is a gym, Tinder, all aboard the smut train, lol, sign me tf up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash_Baby/pseuds/Trash_Baby
Summary: 'Never in your life did you think that you would be so desperate as to use a dating app, yet here you were, the flame logo of Tinder glaring up at you from the homescreen of your phone.It wasn’t that you were against online dating or anything, it’s just that you had imagined your dating life to be much more . . . well, traditional. As a little girl, you had envisioned the big white wedding; in your teens you had daydreamed about kissing your high school crush; and during your college years, you had fantasized about bumping into ‘the one’ at a coffee shop.All of those romantic hopes and dreams had been stereotypical and, to be honest, pretty fucking unrealistic.'Can you guess who the reader matches with?(title may change)





	1. Tinder

Never in your life did you think that you would be so desperate as to use a dating app, yet here you were, the flame logo of Tinder glaring up at you from the homescreen of your phone.

It wasn’t that you were against online dating or anything, it’s just that you had imagined your dating life to be much more . . . well, _traditional_. As a little girl, you had envisioned the big white wedding; in your teens you had daydreamed about kissing your high school crush; and during your college years, you had fantasized about bumping into ‘the one’ at a coffee shop.

All of those romantic hopes and dreams had been stereotypical and, to be honest, pretty fucking unrealistic. Your high school crush didn’t even know that you existed; whenever you went to grab a coffee, you were too busy to do anything besides drink and catch up on work due in the next day; and the dream wedding? Well, that was too expensive for you to even think about without having heart palpitations about the cost.

No, besides the odd date with guys who only knew you because they asked to borrow your notes after they fell asleep during the lecture, your love life was pretty fucking miserable.

Up until recently, you had found yourself coming to terms with the fact that your future would probably consist of a hoard of cats, Netflix marathons, and microwavable meals for ones. However, it seemed now that the only things your friends would talk about were their fiancés and new homes and baby names, and, as you discussed these topics at evening get-togethers, you could only feel the hole in your heart being torn wider and wider until it felt like a crevasse that ached to be filled with the same love and affection that all of your friends seemed to already have.

 _Lucky bastards_ , you internally grumbled, though the bitterness was directed at yourself. Mostly.

Hands shaking, you take a steadying breath before hovering your thumb over the app icon, pausing for a second before tapping on it. After a handful of minutes, you had signed up and customized your profile, choosing four of what you hoped to be your best photos and typing a hasty bio that consisted of ‘really looking forward to being alone forever’, before you did was Tinder was renowned for – swiping.

 

Before long, your thumb was starting to ache. You had scanned each candidate carefully, fighting back the urge to sigh whenever someone had only one photo and no bio, and rolling your eyes at each half-assed innuendo. Not many had caught your attention, and on the few that you had swiped right on, even fewer were matches. After almost an hour of swiping – around ninety percent of which you swiped left on – you had a grand total of seven matches.

Four of them had already messaged you, and so after staring at the message icon for several minutes, you take the plunge and see what they had said. The first, a marketing executive named Thomas with pretty blue eyes and a healthy amount of photos of him with varying dogs, had messaged you saying “hello there”, followed by a trio of kiss emojis. The sight of the emojis made your nose scrunch up, yet you responded with a polite enough “hey!” before opening the second message from an Amit.

Though his bio had only stated his height and snapchat username, his warm eyes and electric smile had coaxed you into swiping right. This proved to be somewhat of a mistake, because his message simply read “I’d love to cum on your face”. Blinking in shock at his crude and upfront remark, you simply exited the conversation, meanwhile subconsciously reaching up to touch your cheek as you wondered what made him want to do such a thing.

The third message was from Daniel, who seemed to be in the same boat as Amit, because he had written a _very_ detailed description about how he wanted you to sit on his face and then sit on his dick.

 _Lovely_.

Staring blankly at your screen for a moment, you briefly considered just deleting the app and forgetting all about it. You reminded yourself, however, that Tinder was an app for hook-ups rather than dating, and that this was an easier option than buying a membership to an _actual_ dating website. Though you told yourself that this was only something to try, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d thrown yourself to the wolves, these wolves being the overtly horny guys who thought that greeting you with sexual offers was the way to your heart.

With a quiet sigh, you check the last message, and a small smile lights up your features at the final message. Rather than actual words, the guy – Joseph – had sent a gif of a golden lab puppy winking. The cuteness had you momentarily forgetting about the previous messages, and you respond with an equally adorable kitten gif of your own.

Maybe your experience with Tinder won’t be _quite_ so bad after all . . .


	2. Match

Okay, so Joseph was a bust. After an amusing exchange of gifs, he had eventually gone ahead and propositioned you with some questionable sexual activities.

Regardless, after two months of Tinder and considerably more matches than when you had first started out, you were getting used to the continuous onslaught of sexual messages, and had even taken to replying with your own quips and innuendos.

However, you had yet to go out and meet anyone.

Since downloading the app, you had developed a sort of addiction to swiping – at one point even running out of likes when you went on a (slightly drunken) swiping spree. The amount of matches you received was surprising, and, even if the chat was dryer than the Sahara, or they didn’t even bother striking up a conversation, the act of matching with someone regardless instilled you with a newfound confidence.

You could admit to yourself that it was shallow; however, you couldn’t help but feel better about yourself. _See!_ You thought to yourself, _Guys **did** find you attractive! _

On the other hand, that only made you question why all of your previous attempts at relationships had failed. Were you boring? _Probably_. Were you awkward? _Most **definitely**_. Was your personality blander than instant mashed potatoes? You hoped not, though you couldn’t help but wonder just what it was that made you so unsuccessful when it came to relationships.

Curled up in the corner of your couch with an old blanket wrapped around you like a cocoon, your free hand alternates between spooning ice cream from the half-empty pint carton that’s wedged between your thighs into your mouth and lifting your mug of hot chocolate to you warm your lips immediately after. Meanwhile your other hand is occupied by your phone, and, once again your screen is lit up by Tinder.

Background noise from your laptop fills your otherwise empty apartment, your plans for re-watching season two of Game of Thrones forgotten about as you study the array of guys at your fingertips. Lately, your messages had gone quiet, and you were getting bored and admittedly a little worried about why no one was talking to you anymore. Some part of you knew that it was because you were too scared to meet anyone, for fears that it would result in an embarrassing interaction and an evening of sobbing off your makeup into a fresh pint of ice cream which, now that you think about it, is somewhat similar to your current situation.

The realisation pushes you to go into a swiping frenzy, and you swipe right on a handful of guys with barely a glance to their bios and other pictures. Of the twelve that you like, only three of them are matches, and your shoulders slump as the air from your lungs seeps out of you with a dejected sigh. Locking your phone and tossing it to the other end of your couch, you lean back into your blanket and dig into the rest of your ice cream, your newly free hand clutching onto the carton until it’s empty in record time.

Gulping down the rest of your hot chocolate, you groan at the sudden temperature difference before getting to your feet and shuffling to the kitchen with your blanket acting as a cape. Dropping your mug and the spoon into the sink and tossing the empty carton into the bin, you grab a glass and pour yourself some wine, intending to have just a small glass, which of course leads to the glass being so full that you have to lean down and sip from it whilst still on the counter until you could safely pick it up without spilling any wine.

With a shrug, you grab the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other, sipping as you go. Putting the glass and bottle onto the table where your hot chocolate had previously been, you scoop up your laptop and drop down onto the couch to restart the episode.

 

Three episodes later and both the bottle and glass are empty of wine.

Staring at your reflection in the darkness of your screen, you make eye contact with your own glazed over pair, and you blink hard before slapping your laptop shut with maybe just a little too much force. Pushing it off of your lap and onto the empty space on your couch, you groan when you hear your laptop land on top of your forgotten phone, and you fumble with your blanket before leaning to the side to scoop up your phone to check for any damage.

Fortunately, the device is safe, and you give a pleased hum as you unlock your phone, only for the sound to die out with a shocked sigh at the sight on your screen. You hadn’t bothered to close Tinder before you tossed your phone earlier, and so the app had reloaded for you to see what you considered to be what is quite possibly the most attractive man you had ever seen. Ever.

Usually you would roll your eyes when a guy had a gym pic as his first photo, however with this guy, you didn’t want to waste a second of viewing time. Maybe it was your mildly drunken state, or perhaps he was just that _hot_ , but you couldn’t peel your eyes away from him.

In the photo, he was taking a selfie in the gym mirror, and it was clearly post-workout from the way his luscious dark hair – damp with sweat, you were sure – was slicked back. Even though his workout tank was black, you could still see the well-defined muscle that stretched the fabric that practically clung to him like a second skin. _Ugh, why did he have to be wearing a shirt?!_

And _Lord_ those arms! In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure whether he was flexing or not, but either way those arms were doing things to you, and this was only from a picture! Whilst a tan was known to make muscles look more defined, he clearly didn’t need one, because despite him being pale as hell, those arms looked like they were carved from marble by Michelangelo himself.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t see his legs, but you were certain that he didn’t miss leg day.

Tapping eagerly on his profile – you take note of his unusual name, ‘Kylo’, the exotic nature of it only making you salivate more – you allow your eyes to scan his short bio for any and every scrap of information.

 

_‘First Order Gym_  
6ft 2  
What do you think you’ll see if I do?’

You read it over once, twice, and then a third time before blinking.

_What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information?_ You try to figure out what he means by the last line, but you come up blank. Instead, you try to figure out why the First Order Gym sounds so familiar to you. It’s not like you went to the gym or anything, but in your alcohol-fogged mind, it certainly rang a bell. With a disgruntled sigh, you focus on the ‘6ft 2’ info – simple enough, and a fucking good height for a guy. _Especially one as well-built as him_. . .

Instead, you check his other photos, your breath catching in your throat when his face fills your screen. His face is decidedly unique, with a strong aquiline nose and full, rosy lips that stand out against his pale skin. Moles and freckles are scattered across his face, along his cheeks, above his eyebrow, across his neck, drawing your attention from one feature to the next. His eyes are as dark as the thick lashes that frame them, and shiny locks of black hair frame his face to curl around his neck and brush at his shoulders.

_Fuck. **Me**. _

You must have spent at least ten minutes studying the rest of his pictures, even going as far as to screenshot them for . . . future use. Biting your lip, your thumb hovers over the heart, unsure of whether you should like him or not. He looked like your dream guy, and you couldn’t let the opportunity slip through your fingers. But on the other hand, _he looked like your dream guy_. What if it wasn’t a match? In the time that you had blatantly stared and drooled over his pictures, you had already imagined your wedding with him (in this fantasy he had scooped you up like you were a feather as he carried you over the threshold, though you struggled to imagine him in a tux when he looked so good with just a tank on – probably even better with _nothing_ on).

Out of nowhere, a surge of confidence rushes through you – most likely in the form of that bottle of wine – and within a second, your thumb has slammed down on the heart. Your own heart immediately goes into overdrive as you prepare for the inevitable heartbreak for a relationship that never even existed, and your eyes slam closed as you groan long and loud in frustration.

Opening your eyes, you stare down at your phone to see the next guy Tinder had to offer, however, your heart jumps into your throat when your icon and Kylo’s fill the screen, the words ‘It’s a match!’ burning their way into your corneas until your vision blurs from staring for so long.

Yup.

It’s a match!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk y'all, lemme know in the comments what you think and if you have any ideas

**Author's Note:**

> Tinder is so fucking wild y'all I swear 
> 
> If anyone has ideas then let me know!! (if you didn't read the tags then I'm open for smut ideas - gym sex anyone?)


End file.
